


Woman in a mirror

by a_different_equation



Series: A Different Equation [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Feminist Themes, Gen, Missing Scene, Queer Character, Season/Series 01, Slice of Life, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: With every layer, Mac gets back into her skin.On every other day, Phryne keeps her promise.It is not morning anymore, when they kiss.Two modern women, one story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the series 1 final of "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries". Strarting point for my writing was the kiss between Phryne and Mac in the dance scene (yes, they DO kiss! I have replayed the scene countless times - for research ;)). 
> 
> One might summarize my story as 'What happens BEFORE'. "Woman in a mirror" is told from three points of view - 1st is Mac's morning, 2nd is Phryne's morning, and the 3rd is their evening - that mirror each other.
> 
> As seen in the end notes; it's an artistic/poetic exploration of two unique, modern women and their special bond. There is a second installment in the writing that will tell the 'AFTER the kiss' which will be toying with the idea of photograph and, let's say, all in a more erotic way. 
> 
> This is my First Hurrah in this fandom. I hope that you enjoy "Woman in a mirror" :)

There are more lines around her eyes these days. She does not to try to hide it; some of them are from laughing, most of them from frowning, a few of them from anger, and maybe one or two are signs of happiness. No make-up, no lipstick; she has no intention to bring her lashes into shape. The latter because she knows about the damage that could be done when the instrument was not handled properly or used long-term. After all, Elizabeth MacMillan is a doctor.

She tries to avoid looking at her breasts. She is grateful for not having a mirror in her room, so she cannot see the scars on her back. There are no extra lines from childbirth and extra pounds afterwards; something that society would expect of a woman of her age. Instead, she has a bad leg. The right leg is so much thinner than her left one. Muscle weakness. Six centimetres. Some days, it is all she can see. Most days, she expects that everyone see it.

She puts on her clothes.

First, the undergarment. With every layer, Mac gets back into her skin.

The trousers draw attention to her legs. “A modern woman”; a bittersweet smile appears on her lips. Family planning, women’s rights, calling a midwife (yes, for an abortion, if necessary), and the so-called female friend, oh, yes, Mac is a modern woman. Tweed jacket, with a hint of a man’s suit. She grins, first unintentional, and then a smirk and she feels her eyes brighten up with the raise of her mood. And if there is a small laugh, carefree and almost childlike, just for a second, there is no one to hear her.

Her hair is dyed red. The original colour was something indefinable; brown-blond mix, nowadays streaks of grey. Now, it is close to copper. Nothing fancy for the hairdo. A hat.

Though she has no mirror at hand, she knows that she must be light up with mischief and determination alike. For a second or two she lets herself go. Some days, when Mac knows what awaits her at the hospital, she allows herself the luxury of being goofy in the security of her bedchamber for a minute longer. On those days, she rearranges the hat, a tad to the left, or a tad to the right, whatever pleases. Or, she tiptoes on her shoes, imitates a Charleston, dances on the wooden floors, hums softly and counts the steps.

Then it is over.

She straightens up.

Into battle.

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

It was far too early for her liking.

On days like these, she is sure that her satin bed linen has never been that soft. Just one minute longer, please, and is she not the Honourable Miss and Lady of the House. Still, the knock on her bedroom door is insistent. Her lady’s maid, Dot, wants to say “Good morning”; in her cheery voice, wants to inquire about her mood today and to express her hopes that “Miss” had a good night. When Dot’s eyes avert her eyes, she knows that she caught on the fact that the Honourable Miss Phyrne Fisher had a companion over.

A sponge bath is waiting for her. Hot water, bubbles, a hint of expensive oil and perfume. Idle chatting by Dot – fashion trends, gossip, “let me, Miss”. Is it not soothing? Is it not a promising start in the day? Style her hair; make her stand out in the crowd. Make-up and lipstick, red, kissable, sensual, promising; draw attention to her eyes, long lashes, black, lure them in. “I am a modern woman”; whispering first to herself in the big mirror, later, in someone’s ear, a promise, whoever will hear it. Then it is time to select what to wear today, one outfit for the morning, one for lunch, – “Will you dine out, Miss?” – One for the evening, and maybe, maybe, hopefully, another outfit for a private dinner.

No, she reminds herself. Today, there is no time and place for a private dinner. Today, is all about her, even more than on any other day, which means a dinner party with her as the host (nothing unusual) and the heart and centre (nothing unusual either) and being merry and cheery and flirty and joyous (her usual self) and being alive... and her mood drops.

It is winter solstice.

Her birthday.

And is she not the lucky one?

On every other day, Phryne keeps her promise. The one promise she has never actually vocalized, the one about living the life to the fullest, to live the life for two, and the one she still keeps, every day, every month, every year. Since the fateful day her sister had died, instead of her, because her father was too drunk to fill out her, Phryne’s birth date correct, and Jane had paid the price with her life. Today, on her birthday, she has to celebrate her life and the one true gift of a second chance and to be grateful and happy and is it not great to be alive; to breath, to laugh, to dance, to drink, to kiss and fuck, to be alive.

Her birthday always comes too early.

 

OOOOOOOOOO

 

It is not morning anymore, when they kiss.

It is evening, outside the city slows down, the night breaks in over Melbourne. Inside, there is light. Alcohol and delicious food, dancing with and without music, fancy dresses and nice suits, and two women who wear trousers. One woman is still in her outfit, the one that she wears day-in, day-out, it is her battledress, and even it is out of tweed. The other woman is wearing her forth outfit for today. This is her most extravagant outfit yet: it is all layers, expensive fabric; pastel and glitter, fur, satin, laces, and parts that are see-through. High-heels. Who knows how much her jewellery had cost.

Phyrne would not know; Phyrne would not care.

Mac does not care that she is taller; Mac does not care that people surround them; Mac does not care that the kiss a bit left of centre.

They are dancing, Charleston.

**Author's Note:**

> Title "Woman in the Mirror" inspired by the book with the same title by Richard Avedon (photographer) and Anne Hollander (Introduction):
> 
> Among the significant projects of the last year of his life, Richard Avedon (1923-2004) completed a book of his photographs of women. Always transcending categorization-he was both a fashion photographer and known as a "poet of portraiture"-Avedon was interested in seeing how elemental facts of modern life and human existence were reflected in his work. And what could be more elemental than women, who have mesmerized artists across the centuries?
> 
> Looking at his work in this way, Avedon was able to create an unparalleled view of women in his time, a tumultuous half century of rapidly changing social facts, cultural ideals, popular styles, and high fashion. As an artist, Avedon was deeply responsive to nuances of expression, gesture, and comportment, and his photographs unfailingly opened a window to the interior lives of his subjects. These ranged from celebrities (Marilyn Monroe), artists (Marguerite Duras, June Leaf), and high-fashion models (Suzy Parker, Dovima) to anonymous people that simply drew his attention. Like the best of art and literature, they evoke rich lives and complex experiences.
> 
> An incisive essay by art historian Anne Hollander offers an overview of a half century of Avedon's images of women. 
> 
> (source: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/woman-in-the-mirror-richard-avedon/1102168827#productInfoTabs)


End file.
